


Christ Almighty, I've Been Thirsty

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, M/M, Reluctant Hopper, Slutty Steve Harrington, Steve is the Forbidden Snack, We Riding the Trash Train, choo choo motherfuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Summer in Hawkins is the perfect time to make poor choices and sully your Scoops Ahoy uniform with questionable stains.





	Christ Almighty, I've Been Thirsty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).



> I just. The sailor suit. I couldn’t contain myself. Steve’s eighteen now and he deserves to get all the daddy dick he can handle.

Summer in Hawkins is vibrant. People in the streets wearing bright colors. Warm wind blowing through the fields. It’s a welcome break from the doom and gloom of winter. The constant rain of spring. 

 

Summer in Hawkins means a lot of thin girls in shorts too short and shirts tied up to expose their pale bellies. It means pink tongues lapping at melted ice cream on fingers and delicate hands. It means heady hormones surging and a strange recklessness banging around under Steve’s skin. 

 

It means a stupid sailor hat and shorts that are  _ part of the uniform _ . Shorts that have ridden up ridiculously high from how wide Steve’s legs are spread over Hop’s lap. His hat fell off a while ago. He’s panting and hungry, and relishing the freedom of an aimless life sprawled out in front of him. Steve’s not going to college. He doesn’t have a real adult job. He has what his dad calls No Sense Of Direction. People say it like it’s a bad thing. Steve thinks it’s pretty great so far. 

 

Hop’s beard drags against the smooth skin of Steve’s cheek. It makes him gasp and squirm and clutch at the stupid flannel that Hop is wearing despite the heat. 

 

“Steve—c’mon—you gotta—you gotta stop—“

 

Hop’s broad hands clamp down on Steve’s hips and pull him back. So he’s sitting instead of rubbing up against the curve of Hop’s beer belly. Steve’s rock hard. Straining in his dumb shorts. He knows if he managed to unzip Hop’s jeans he’d find an impressive erection. 

 

This part is just a step in the dance. A token protest before the swell of lust consumes them both. The chemistry is inescapable. Relentless. Everywhere they touch feels electric. Steve gets dizzy whenever he’s in reaching distance and he knows he’s not the only one. 

 

_ “Please,” _ Steve says all wide eyed and breathy. The way that makes Hop’s fingers twitch. “Just one more time. I need it so bad.”

 

They both know it won’t be just one more time. It’s a thing they say to evade the obligation of guilt. The choreography is all laid out the second Steve shows up on the porch, when Hop opens the screen door and says  _ “uh… Jane isn’t here…”  _ like she’s the one Steve would be looking for. Hop wouldn’t invite him in if he really wanted this to stop. He wouldn’t offer Steve a beer and let him sit on the couch to watch whatever sports happen to be on. 

 

Hop’s breathing heavy. His hands squeeze down ever so slightly, like he can’t help himself. Like he needs to  _ touch _ , and  _ taste _ , and  _ take _ . Like he feels as strung out as Steve does. 

 

Steve thought he’d had something with Nancy. She felt nice. Smelled nice. She was soft and slick, and so tight when he slid inside her. He was deeply infatuated. Wanted to be around her as much as he could. 

 

But this. It’s an obsession. An irresistible pull. Steve can’t think about anything else. Can’t breathe. Can’t function. Always trying to find his way back as soon as possible, because nothing else feels the same. Touching himself is unsatisfying. He can’t even get off to a dirty magazine anymore. He has to get his fix and there’s only one dealer in town.

 

He runs his hands up Hop’s chest. Rests them on his broad shoulders. Leans in so slow. 

 

They kiss sweet at first. Just a gentle brush of lips. Almost chaste. But then Steve surges forward as much as Hop will let him. It’s naked desperation. The strongest passion Steve’s ever known. Hop groans. Pulls him in close. Lets Steve start grinding against his stomach again. 

 

“Goddamnit,” Hop breathes, gruff and exasperated. “God fucking damn it.”

 

He stands, taking Steve along with him. Holding him tight with those thick arms. Steve wraps his legs around Hop’s waist. Nearly hyperventilates with anticipation as Hop staggers towards the bedroom. 

 

“Can’t on the couch,” he huffs. “No idea when Jane’ll be back.”

 

Of course, Jane already knows. She’s telepathic. Looks at Steve sometimes with a skinny eyebrow raised, something like a smirk on her lips. She hasn’t told anyone. Steve knows he’d catch hell from Dustin if she had. Because it’s not the sort of thing he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to be chasing girls. Not someone twice his age. Not a  _ man.  _

 

Steve’s always suspected that about himself, though. From the first time him and Tommy stole a smutty tape from the video store, and his eyes lingered on the muscular guys when he was supposed to be looking at the women they were pounding into. He imagined being on the receiving end of those brutal thrusts. Stuck a finger in himself whenever he jerked off in the shower after that. And god, it made everything so much more intense. 

 

Hop kicks his bedroom door shut behind them. Deposits Steve on the bed. Pulls away long enough to put on a record. Led Zeppelin. Because Hop was a fucking hippy. Turned twenty-seven during the summer of love. Probably fucked in the mud at woodstock. 

 

_ Should have quit you a long time ago. Should have quit you a long time ago. _

 

Then Hop’s weight settles down on top of Steve again. It’s intoxicating. Being pressed together. The body heat. Raw potential energy. They kiss again, and Steve makes it messy. Opening his mouth a little too wide. Nipping at Hop’s lips. Pushy. Demanding. 

 

Hop grabs his ass. Squeezes. Slips his thumb under the waistband of the shorts. Teasing across Steve’s hipbone. Skin on skin. The contact leaves behind an intense tingling, despite how brief it is. 

 

Steve moans. Torn between clinging to Hop and trying to undress. They’re both still fully clothed and that’s an unacceptable state of affairs. But he doesn’t want to stop the kissing. 

 

“Jesus, you’re eager.” Hop chuckles. It’s a deep rumble that makes Steve melt even further into the bed. “It’s almost like you weren’t over here three days ago.”

 

“Three days is too long,” Steve groans. Because he can say that now. When everything’s humid and feverish, he can admit to what he really thinks. Can admit that he wants this multiple times a day. That he’ll take everything Hop will let him have and then some. 

 

“You’re kind of a slut, huh?” He doesn’t say it like an insult. So Steve doesn’t take it as one. 

 

Instead he squirms, rolls his hips, trying to chase any friction he can get. And he whispers, “Just for you, Daddy.”

 

It’s impossible to miss the way Hop’s breath hitches. The way he matches Steve’s uncoordinated grinding for just a minute. “Told you not to call me that.”

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

“Just—it ain’t right. Don’t need a reminder you’re a fucking kid.”

 

Without warning, Hop pulls back and flips Steve over. Steve lifts his hips enough for Hop to drag the shorts down his thighs. Steve breathes hot and heavy into the soft quilt. Hop grabs his ass cheeks and spreads them, rubbing his thumb across Steve’s hole. 

 

_ “Goddamnit.”   _ He murmurs. More to himself than anything. 

 

He spits. Steve feels it hit his skin. Hop brushes through it, then he’s pushing his thumb forward. Steve moans. Relaxes. It doesn’t hurt the way it did when he first started playing with himself. It burns a little. But he likes it. Craves it. Presses back against it because he needs more. 

 

He hears the jingle of a belt buckle. A zipper. Hop must be touching himself. And god, that’s hot. Steve gets off on how much Hop wants him. It’s gasoline on the fire. Being the  _ sweet young thing _ Hop’s salivating over. That he can’t resist, no matter how much he knows he should. 

 

Hop spits again. Replaces the thumb with two thick fingers. Steve ruts into the mattress. Because he’s sticky, and throbbing, and he wonders if he’s gonna last long enough for Hop to get inside him. Sometimes he can’t. Sometimes he can’t, and then he’s still hard, and he comes again while Hop fucks him. It’s overwhelming and almost painful, but there’s nothing like it. 

 

_ “Fuck.” _ Hop edges a third finger in. It’s too fast. Steve knows it is. But he wants it. So he relaxes. And the finger pops in. 

 

A drawer slides open. Hop’s fingers are gone for a second, then they’re back. Slick with Vaseline. Steve shudders as Hop withdraws his fingers. Replaces him with the blunt head of his cock. 

 

“I wanna be on top.” Steve twists to glance over his shoulder. 

 

Hop looks completely wrecked. Flushed. A little sweaty. Mouth half open. Still wearing his flannel.

 

“OK. Shit. OK.”

 

He drops his pants. Climbs onto the bed. Steve takes off the dumb sailor shirt. And he’s all bare skin. He likes the way Hop stares. Gets distracted. Reaches out to touch, to rub his fingers across one of Steve’s nipples. 

 

Steve pushes Hop onto his back. Swings a leg over him. Unbuttons his shirt, because he wants to see chest hair. Wants to see Hop’s soft stomach. Wants to run his hands over it before he grabs the base of Hop’s cock and sinks down onto it. 

 

They both groan. Steve is stretched near his limit. The rush of it makes his head spin. He rocks his hips. Slow. Dirty. He wants to stay as full as he can while still moving.

 

Hop rests his hands on Steve’s thighs. Stares up at him. Panting. Staying still for now, like he doesn’t want to upset Steve’s rhythm.

 

“Christ.” Hop squeezes Steve’s legs. “Feel so good, baby.”

 

_ Baby.  _ It makes Steve go molten at the core. He loves it when Hop calls him that. Feels so special. Desirable. Desired. He picks up a little speed. Bouncing on Hop’s cock. Still trying to keep as much of it inside him as he can. 

 

It’s his favorite thing, when Hop’s buried deep. When he feels split open. When it hurts a little, in the specific way that makes his muscles tense, and his cock twitch, and it feels like he might fall apart at any moment. 

 

Hop starts to thrust up into him. Matching him. Steve braces himself on Hop’s chest. Letting out little gasps every time they join fully. Hop wraps a hand around his cock. Rubs his thumb underneath the head of it. 

 

_ “Daddy,” _ it just kind of slips out. Steve’s not really embarrassed about it. 

 

Much like the craving for a broad chest and a hard cock, he found porn that catered to this need too. Had to go all the way to sex shops in Gary to find it.  _ Leather Daddies. Spanking. Boys that just need a firm hand.  _ He knows that’s part of this whole thing. Approval and affection from an older male authority figure. Like. Whatever. 

 

Hop’s rhythm stutters. Then he’s thrusting faster. Harder. Steve’s glad there aren’t neighbors nearby. He’s probably getting a little too loud with his moans and whimpers. 

 

“Yeah, baby. Come on. You gonna come for me?” Hop starts jerking him off. Tight and focused. Steve shudders. 

 

Then the world falls out from under him. He squeezes down around Hop’s dick. Pulses. His whole body rocks with it. He flood of pleasure, and warm fuzzy feelings. He’s still high on it when Hop groans and stops moving. 

 

Steve stays still for a minute before slumping forward. Letting Hop slide out of him. Hop usually comes a lot. Like. It’s an impressive amount of jizz. Steve can already feel it starting to dribble out of him. 

 

“Uh… you can uh, use the shower if you want.” Hop clears his throat. Not pushing Steve away just yet. 

 

It’s always hard to tell if Hop’s rushing him out the door because he’s ashamed of what they just did, or if it’s because he’s worried they might do it again if Steve sticks around. 

 

“Mmm.” Steve nuzzles against Hop’s neck. “I dunno. I kinda like being sticky.”

 

“Of course you do.” Hop sighs. He rests his hand on Steve’s lower back. Maybe it’s a reflex. Holding someone who’s on top of him. Steve takes it as an invitation to kiss Hop’s neck. Work his way past the scruffy beard. Press their lips together. 

 

Hop kisses back. Always does. Even in the post orgasmic haze, they’re both still starving for it. 

 

“When you gonna let me stay over?” Steve asks, because he’s feeling bold. 

 

“You know we can’t do that.”

 

“Why not? Nobody’s wondering where I am.”

 

“Jane…”

 

“Definitely knows already,” Steve snorts. 

 

“God, don’t say that.”

 

“Please don’t tell me you think you can keep a secret from a teenager who can blow shit up with her mind.”

 

“Listen. Maybe she—maybe she knows something, OK? But there’s a big difference between her suspecting it and being around it. I am not doing anything unsavory when she’s in the house, and that’s final.”

 

“Sleeping next to each other unsavory?” Steve pouts a little. 

 

“I don’t believe for a second you’re just gonna sleep.” Hop smacks his ass. Not hard enough to hurt. It still sends a shock of heat through Steve’s body. His cock twitches. 

 

Steve knows he shouldn’t really push it. So he just lies there. Rising and falling as Hop breathes. It’s soothing. He doesn’t want to leave. 

 

“You really should get going.” Hop nudges him, just as Steve’s starting to drift off to sleep. “I gotta cook dinner.”

 

“OK.” Steve sits up. Kind of bleary. It takes him a minute to find the work uniform that he’s definitely going to have to put in the laundry tonight. 

 

Hop walks him to the front door in a pair of khaki shorts and his open flannel shirt. They both linger in the doorway. Even after Steve steps out into the porch, Hop doesn’t shut the door behind him. Instead he rubs the back of his neck and looks off into the distance. 

 

“Jane was asking if she could stay over Maxine’s on Saturday.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Steve tries not to sound too breathless. 

 

“Was looking forward to a quiet night in. Maybe a movie, or something.” 

 

“Yeah, totally.”

 

Hopper nods and lets the screen door shut. Steve smiles much too wide all the way back to his car. He can still feel the jizz leaking out into his shorts. He’s a filthy disaster. It’s Thursday. He’s getting fucked again on Saturday, with maybe an invitation to stay the night. 

 

No Sense Of Direction has gotten him to a pretty awesome place, all things considered. He knows it can’t last forever. But for now, he’s going to enjoy the hell out of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Ignores my other fic that I haven’t updated because I felt an urgent need to write this garbage fire that nobody asked for* whOOOPS.
> 
> Title from the [AJJ song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR4ONnMiijw) because it's a Hopper mood.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr.](https://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) You can scold me and it will do no good.


End file.
